Harry Turtledove [The V

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where we've gone?"
"No," Thorisin admitted. "But you should have saved one for questioning."
"Too late now." Onomagoulos spread his bloody hands. "Nepos," he called, "make
a light. I'd wager we'll have the answer to any questions soon enough."
The priest came up to Onomagoulos' side. His breathing grew deep and steady.
Gavras' officers muttered in awe as a pale, golden radiance sprang into being
round his hands. Marcus was less wonder-struck than some; this was a miracle
he had seen before, from Apsimar the prelate of Imbros.
For all the amazement Baanes Onomagoulos showed, Nepos might have lit a torch.
The half-crippled noble painfully bent by one of the fallen attackers. His
knife snicked out to slit a belt-pouch. Goldpieces a surprising number of
goldpieces spilled onto the sand. Onomagoulos scooped them up, held them close
to Nepos' glowing palms. Thorisin's marshals crowded close to look.
"'Ort. the 1st Sphr., Avt. of Vid.,'" Onomagoulos read from a coin, not
bothering to stretch the abbreviation full length. "Here's Ort. the first
again again." He turned a goldpiece over. "And again. Nothing but Phos-curse
Ort. the first, in fact."
"Aye, ahnd ahll fresh-minted, too." That flat-voweled accent had to belong to
Utprand Dagober's son.
"What else would Leimmokheir use to pay his hired killers?" Onomagoulos asked
rhetorically.
"How could the Sphrantzai have infected him with their treachery?" Thorisin
wondered. "Vardanes must be leagued with Skotos, to have suborned Taron
Leimmokheir."
No one answered him; the crackle of brush pushed aside, loud in the midnight
stillness, came from the south. Swords flew up instinctively. Nepos' light
vanished as he took his concentration from it. "The son of a manurebag did
land marines!" Onomagoulos growled.
"I don't think so," Gaius Philippus said. Woods-wise, he went on, "I think the
noise was closer to us, made by something smaller than a man a fox, maybe, or
a badger."
"You are right, I think," Utprand said.
Not even the centurion of the Namdalener, though, seemed eager to wait and
test their guess. With their comrades, they hurried back to their mounts.
Soteric, Scaurus, and Nepos quickly lashed the bodies of Gavras' slain
commanders to their horses. Moments later, they were trotting north through
the orchard. Branches slapped at the tribune before he knew they were there.
If Leimmokheir's marines were behind the officers, they never caught them up.
When Thorisin and his followers emerged from the fragrant rows of trees, the
Emperor galloped his horse a quarter of a mile in sheer exuberance at being
alive. He waited impatiently for his men to join him.
When they reached him at last, he had the air of a man who had come to a
decision. "Very well, then," he declared. "If we cannot cross with
Leimmokheir's let, we shall in his despite."
"'In his despite,'" Gorgidas echoed the next morning. "A ringing phrase, no
doubt." The Roman camp was full of excitement as word of the night's adventure
raced through Gavras' army. Viridovix, as was his way when left out of a
fight, was wildly jealous and sulked for hours until Scaurus managed to jolly
him from his sour mood.
The tribune's men bombarded him and Gaius Philippus with questions. Most were
satisfied after one or two, but Gorgidas kept on, trying to pull from the
Romans every detail of what had gone on. His cross-questioning was sharp as a
jurist's, and he soon succeeded in annoying Gaius Philippus.
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A more typical Roman than the thoughtful Scaurus, the senior centurion had
little patience for anything without obvious practical use. "You don't want
us," he complained to the doctor. "You want one of the buggers Onomagoulos let
the air out of, to go at him with pincers and hot iron."
The Greek took no notice of his griping, but said, "Onomagoulos, eh? Thank
you, that reminds me of something else I wanted to ask: how did he know he'd
find Ortaias' monies in the dead men's pouches?"
"Great gods, that should be plain enough even to you." Gaius Philippus threw
his hands in the air. "If their drungarios hired murderers, he'd have to pay
in his master's coins." The centurion gave a short, hard laugh. "It's not
likely he'd have any of Thorisin's. And don't think you can ignore me and have
me go away," he went on. "You still haven't said the first thing about why
you're flinging all these questions at us."
The usually voluble Greek stood mute. He arched one eyebrow and tried to stare
Gaius Philippus down, but Marcus came in on the senior centurion's side.
"Anyone would think you were writing a history," he told the physician.
A slow flush climbed Gorgidas' face. Scaurus saw that what he had meant for a
joke was in grim earnest to the Greek. "Your pardon," he said, and meant it.
"I did not know. How long have you been working on it?"
"Eh? Since I learned enough Videssian to ask for pen and parchment you know as
well as I there's no papyrus here."
"What language is it in?" the tribune asked.
"Hellenisti, ma Dia! In Greek, by Zeus! What other tongue is there for serious
thought?" Gorgidas slipped back into his native speech to answer.
Gaius Philippus stared at him in amazement. His own Greek consisted of a
couple of dozen words, most of them foul, but he knew the name of the language
when he heard it. "In Greek, you say? Of all the bootless things I've heard,
that throws the triple six! Greek, in Videssos that's never heard the word,
let alone the tongue? Why, man, you could be Homer or what's-his-name the
first history writer, I heard it once but I'm damned if I recall it " He
looked to Scaurus for help.
"Herodotos," the tribune supplied.
"Thanks; that's the name. As I say, Gorgidas, you could be either of those old
bastards, or even both of 'em together, and who'd ever know it, here? Greek!"
he repeated, half-contemptuous wonder in his voice.
The doctor's color deepened. "Yes, Greek, and why not?" he said tightly. "One
day, maybe, I'll be easy enough in Videssian to write it, or I might have one
of their scholars help translate what I write. Manetho the Egyptian and
Berosos of Babylon wrote in Greek to teach us Hellenes of their nations' past
glories; it wouldn't be the worst deed to make sure we are remembered in
Videssos after the last of us has died."
He spoke with the same determination he might have shown when facing a
difficult case, but Marcus saw he had not impressed Gaius Philippus. What
happened after his own end was of no concern to the senior centurion. He
sensed, however, that he had chaffed Gorgidas about as much as he could. In
his rough way he was fond of the doctor, so he shrugged and gave up the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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